


if anyone else were to kiss me, all they would taste is your name

by CallMeBombshell



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, bed breaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeBombshell/pseuds/CallMeBombshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't think your bed is structurally sound."</p>
<p>Jason snorts, turning his face further into the pillow and waves a hand in Tim's direction. "My bed is fine," he says, muffled. "I followed the instructions. There were pictures and everything. Now shut up and come lay down." </p>
<p>He waves his hand again, this time more insistently, and Tim realizes that Jason's trying to reach for him, to haul him closer. Tim eyes the bed again, concern growing in his gut, but Jason's fingers have found his, Jason's enormous hand wrapped around Tim's wrist, tugging gently. Tim sighs, but relents, allowing himself to be pulled closer so that Jason can tug him down onto the mattress next to him.</p>
<p>"I'm telling you now," Tim warns, settling into the curve of Jason's arm. "When this inevitably ends badly, I’m going to say <i>I told you so</i> like a billion times, at least."</p>
            </blockquote>





	if anyone else were to kiss me, all they would taste is your name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [defcontwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [你的名字，溢满齿间 / if anyone else were to kiss me, all they would taste is your name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604615) by [blurryyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurryyou/pseuds/blurryyou)



> for sam who, ages ago, prompted me with, "jaytim, falling off the bed". this may have gotten slightly out of hand XD

Tim wants it known, empirically, emphatically, for the record, that this is not his fault.

He's only at Jason's place because the moron had gotten himself more beat up than usual during the annoyingly prolonged firefight they'd been in earlier. Tim's sporting his fair share of injuries, too, but he'd largely been out of the line of fire; Jason, on the other hand, had taken several bullets, all more or less deflected by his body armor, but the resulting bruises once Tim got him home and undressed were angry and purple, spreading across his torso like particularly painful ink stains.

Jason's not helping, either, poking at them like he's secretly five and fascinated by the colors blooming beneath his skin. Tim's also worried about the rib that was hit nearly dead-on, but, as Jason said, nothing was poking out of his skin or obviously displaced, so unless he starts having trouble breathing, then _that's quite enough, Nurse Timothy, thank you very much, and jesus, will you just sit down, you're making me hurt to watch you standing there all stiff and ridiculous._

And then he'd stomped (or, more accurately, shuffled gingerly and with a lot of wincing) over to his bed in the corner, giant mattress sprawled on a low platform, blankets and dark sheets messy and unmade, and (carefully, very carefully), flopped down onto it in an inelegant heap.

The platform makes a vaguely distressing noise, a sort of creaking groan. Tim stares at it in mild alarm.

"I don't think your bed is structurally sound."

Jason snorts, turning his face further into the pillow and waves a hand in Tim's direction. "My bed is fine," he says, muffled. "I followed the instructions. There were pictures and everything. Now shut up and come lay down."

He waves his hand again, this time more insistently, and Tim realizes that Jason's trying to reach for him, to haul him closer. Tim eyes the bed again, concern growing in his gut, but Jason's fingers have found his, Jason's enormous hand wrapped around Tim's wrist, tugging gently. Tim sighs, but relents, allowing himself to be pulled closer so that Jason can tug him down onto the mattress next to him.

"I'm telling you now," Tim warns, settling into the curve of Jason's arm. "When this inevitably ends badly, I’m going to say _I told you so_ like a billion times, at least."

"Shut up," Jason repeats, but Tim can see the slight curve of his mouth, half-hidden by the pillow. He scoots slightly closer, and Jason's smile twitches wider.

Tim can't help the answering smile across his own mouth. "You love it."

Jason hums, content and a little sleepy, and worms his hand up under Tim's shirt, his palm splayed huge and hot across Tim's belly.

"You gonna stay tonight?"

Tim is grateful that Jason can't actually feel the way his stomach flips at that, bubbly and pleasant, because it still gives Tim a pathetic sort of thrill when Jason asks for Tim to stay, when he makes it clear that he wants Tim around.

"Yeah," Tim says, and if his voice is a little soft, a little fond, well. He's pretty sure Jason won't hold it against him. "Yeah, I'll stay."

  
  
  


Tim isn't entirely certain when he drifts off, but it's been a while, clearly, because it had been just past one when Jason tugged him down on the bed, but now the sliver of sky that he can see through the heavy drapes has that strange purple-y quality that says that dawn isn't far away.

Tim lies there, blinking against his heavy eyelids, resisting the urge to fall back asleep. It takes him a moment to realize why he'd woken up in the first place, awareness creeping up on him slowly. Jason's hand is moving, fingers drumming lightly against his lower ribs, his pinkie finger brushing just above Tim's belly button. Now that he's actually somewhat alert, Tim can feel Jason's breath on the back of his neck, deep and slow, but still too fast to be anything other than awake.

"Morning," Jason mutters; the words rumble through his chest, pressed close against Tim's back, until he can feel them in his ribcage. Tim hums, not feeling quite up to actual words just yet, not with the way he's stretched out along Jason's body, the heat of him leaking through Tim's clothes, not with the way Jason's hand has started creeping lower, one light caress at a time. He arches his back slightly, shoulders pressing back against Jason's chest at the same time as he presses his stomach forward against Jason’s hand.

He feels Jason's grin against the back of his neck, teeth sharp for a moment before Jason presses a kiss just at the base of his skull. Tim’s mouth drops open, breath escaping in a rush.

“Jay…”

Jason just presses closer. “Come on, I want to.”

His hand has drifted even lower, fingers playing at the skin just under the waistband of Tim’s boxers. His other hand has come up to card through Tim’s hair, short-trimmed nails scratching lightly at his scalp and sending shivers down his spine. Tim tries to suck in a breath, tries to hold himself still.

“Jason, you’re injured.”

Jason nips at his neck again. “Don’t care. You feel good.”

And that much is obvious from where his hips are pressed up against Tim’s ass, the hard length of him burning like a brand through the thin fabric of their underwear. Jason presses closer, rubbing slowly against Tim. This time, Tim can’t quite hold back his low moan.

“Dammit Jason, I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

He can feel Jason’s grin against his neck and knows, instantly, what he’s going to say.

“Guess you’d better do it yourself, then,” Jason says, predictably.

And okay, yeah, Tim will give him that one, because it does feel good, Jason wrapped around him, hands on his skin and in his hair, his breath on the back of Tim’s neck and the heat of him everywhere. And they can be careful, can’t they? Tim can do the work, Tim can be the one to move, can make sure Jason lies still and doesn’t hurt himself, can make sure Jason only feels good from this.

“Fine, fine,” Tim grumbles, trying to sound at least a little annoyed, but it’s lost in the way he can’t quite seem to catch his breath. He turns, slowly, flipping onto his other side so that he’s facing Jason. Jason’s hand drifts as he turns, skating over his hip to press at the small of his back, holding Tim close.

This close, Tim can see the hints of green in Jason’s eyes, making the blue look more teal. There’s stubble on his jaw, a dark dusting that makes him look older than his twenty-one years. He’s still the most beautiful thing Tim’s ever seen.

He’s kissing Jason before he even realizes he’s moved, leaned in close and pressed their lips together. Jason smiles, just for a moment, his mouth stretching wide against Tim’s lips, and then he sighs and leans closer, parting his lips and deepening the kiss. It’s sweet, almost, and unhurried, just slowly making out like this, like they so rarely get to do. Jason’s mouth is warm and soft and wet, tongue flicking almost lazily against Tim’s.

It’s a few minutes before Tim remembers that, as nice as making out is, there were even better things to do. His arms had come up, without his notice, to wrap around Jason’s shoulders; now he unwinds them, trailing his palms down the line of Jason’s arms, tracing the bulge and flex of his muscles, the skin over them soft in between the smoothness of scars scattered here and there.

Tim pulls back, ignoring Jason’s little protesting noises, so that he can get his hands between their tight-pressed bodies and tug at their underwear, pulling them down around their thighs, just enough to free their cocks. He gets a hand around both of them, biting his lip against the feel of Jason’s hot skin against his. Jason exhales in a huff against his neck, nails digging into Tim’s back.

“Fuck,” he mutters, turning his face into Tim’s shoulder. “Your fucking hands, jesus.”

Tim smirks, leaning in to nip lightly at Jason’s shoulder as he starts to move, sliding up and down so slowly, fingers tight around them both. It’s torture, driving his breath high and shallow, but it’s worth it for the way it makes Jason keen, the tremor in his hips as he tries to keep them still.

“You love them,” Tim says, breathlessly; Jason just nods against his neck.

Tim speeds up his strokes, heat licking up his spine. He can’t help but push his hips into Jason’s, grinding against him just enough to set off sparks behind his eyes. Jason groans, cursing under his breath, and tangles his hand in Tim’s hair, dragging him in for a filthy kiss. His impossibly long eyelashing drag against Tim’s cheek, just below his eye, butterfly-kisses sending warm shivers down his spine. Tim’s free hand grips hard at Jason’s hip, hard enough that he worries for a moment about leaving bruises, but then Jason bucks his hips, swearing, “Fuck, Tim, do that again,” and Tim forgets to be worried in favor of driving Jason crazy.

Tim hikes his leg up, wrapping it around Jason’s hip to keep him from bucking again, still insistent on doing the work himself, on bringing Jason off without letting Jason get a hand in at all. It brings them even closer together, and he can’t help the little whimper that escapes him. His fist is moving faster now, twisting just a little, palming at the head of his cock and Jason’s, precome slicking his fist as he moves. He twists his fist sharply at the base and Jason cries out, wordless. And shit, neither of them is going to last long at this point but Tim can’t even bring himself to care, not with the way he feels like he’s on fire, the way he can’t catch his breath, hips twitching against Jason’s with every stroke.

His eyes, when Tim looks up at him, are shining, pupils blown black, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at Tim, something hot and intense, and Tim whines low in his throat before leaning in to slam their lips together again. He curls his tongue around Jason’s, timing it with the curl of his fist, the slide of their lips with the slide of his fingers, nipping at Jason’s lower lip just as he pressed his thumb under the crown of Jason’s cock, and that’s it.

Jason comes with a strangled cry, biting at Tim’s neck, nails digging into Tim’s back and against his scalp. He pulls Tim’s hair, just slightly, and the tiny shock of pleasure/pain is enough to send Tim over after him, spilling over his hand, still wrapped around them both.

They lie there for a few moments longer, catching their breath. Tim’s neck is throbbing near his shoulder where Jason bit him, but he can’t bring himself to mind too much, not when Jason’s looking at him like that, sated and dopey and grinning just barely, the corners of his mouth curling almost shyly.Tim’s grip on them both is soft and loose; when he pulls away his fingers barely graze their skin, sending sparks zipping underneath his skin, just this side of feeling good and not like too much. Jason clearly agrees, given the way Tim can see his pulse jump for a moment before he quiets it back down.

Jason’s mouth against his is slow and languid when he leans in to kiss him. He hums against Tim’s lips, drawing his arms back around Tim’s back to pull them close again, apparently unconcerned with the mess between them. Tim reaches out absently, wiping his hand on the sheets, and lets his eyes drift shut, sinking into the kiss. The pull apart reluctantly after a few moments, just far enough to breath, and they lie there, content to just watch each other.

“Mmm, thanks for that,” Jason says finally, voice husky and low and god, Tim wishes he could go again because Tim did that, Tim made Jason sound like that, made him sound like dirt and gravel and sex, and that will never stop being the single biggest turn on ever.

“You’re welcome,” Tim says, and he can’t help the wry twist to his lips. Because Jason still insists on thanking him, most times, even after this long, after the number of times they’ve done this, like he still thinks he needs to be polite, like he’s still worried that Tim’s only doing it to humor him, like he still isn’t sure what Tim’s getting out of this, like Tim isn’t still amazed every single time that he has the privilege of seeing Jason like this, of getting to turn him into this.

And there it is, the smile Jason always gets, after, small and pleased and happy, right before he wraps his arms around Tim’s waist and shoulders and pulls him in, less cuddling and more hugging and all comfort and safety and _home_.

And times like this, held close and secure where no one but Jason can see the way his smile has gone wide and goofy, Tim can let himself admit that sometimes he feels like he lives just for moments like this, that he lives for the times when it’s just him and Jason, just _them_ , warm and naked and tangled up in each other like this. Because it feels good, because it feels _right_.

And so, of course, this is the moment when Jason’s dubiously-put-together bed decides to let out a truly alarming creaking groan, followed by a sharp, splintery crack, and the bed lurches sideways, tipping them into an ungraceful pile on the floor.

Tim lands on his back with Jason on top of him, breath wooshing out of his lungs under Jason’s sudden weight, sprawled across Tim’s chest. He’s grateful, he thinks distractedly, that the bed was only about a foot and a half off the ground to begin with, and that Jason, with all his injuries, had landed on him and not the floor. Jason apparently isn’t so grateful.

“Ow, fuck,” he mutters, laughter lurking at the edges of his voice. “You are not a good crashpad.” He makes a tiny, pained sound, squirming slightly until he's arranged himself on top of Tim into a more comfortable position, then goes boneless, apparently content to just lie on top of him.

Tim snorts. “You’d rather land on the hard floor than on the soft, squishy human?”

Jason doesn’t even look up from where he’s lying with his head on Tim’s shoulder, just raises a hand to poke at Tim’s chest. “You’re not squishy,” he mumbles, “you’re solid muscle. Which, you know, is super hot and I love it, really. But you’re a much better pillow when I’m not actually trying to use you to break my fall.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “What about me? I’m tiny, you’re a fucking giant. You could’ve totally squished me.”

“But I didn’t,” Jason says, turning his head to grin up at Tim. “Because I am awesome. And also not very interested in turning my boyfriend into a pancake.”

And Tim wants to laugh, he can feel it bubbling up in his chest, but his breath is caught in his throat because, because Jason just… because he’s never said it.

They’ve never really talked about it, never discussed what they are, and Tim’s been fine with that, really, honestly, because he gets Jason, and that, well… he’s always figured that as long as he got that, he didn’t really care if he had some stupid word to give to other people when they asked.

But now Jason’s said it, and it’s so fucking absurd that this is how it happens, how Tim hears it for the first time, lying on the floor next to Jason’s crappy, broken Ikea bed, naked with dried come itching on his stomach and he’s still got one foot propped up on the edge of the mattress for fuck’s sake.

And this is all so ridiculous and he wants to say something but all that comes out of his mouth is, “Boyfriend?”

Jason ducks his head, hiding his face in Tim’s chest, and he's blushing, face going red and Tim can actually _feel_ the heat coming off his cheeks. “Sorry, I. It just… slipped out.”

He sounds bashful and shy and uncertain and just… no, that’s now how this is supposed to go, because there’s a feeling in Tim’s chest like champagne, bright and bubbly and warm and his mouth is stretching into a grin so wide he feels like his cheeks are going to start hurting any moment now, and Jason can't even see it because he’s _still hiding his face_.

“I like it,” Tim says, grinning wider when Jason’s head comes up, staring at him with something like amazement.

“Yeah?” he asks, and, god, it’s like he can’t believe it, like he can’t believe that Tim would let him say that.

“I like _you_ ,” Tim says, and if it sounds like maybe he’s saying something else, something more, well. Maybe he is.

Because it’s still bouncing around his head, _boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend_. And, okay, it’s not really a big deal, except for how it is. Except for how they got here, the slow progression of the two of them, from near-strangers to this, to being wrapped up in each other so close that sometimes Tim can’t tell where he stops and Jason begins, can’t separate the places where they’ve wormed under each other’s skin.

Because they’ve been _allies_ and they’ve been _friends_ , and for a while when this all started Tim thinks that maybe _fuckbuddies_ was accurate, back when it was still fast and harsh and rough, back before they started taking their time, before they started kissing just to kiss instead of as foreplay, before they started lingering after, hands curled together, before they started staying the night, before they started waking up and reaching for each other without thinking.

And Tim has no idea what his face is doing, but some part of that must be showing in his expression because Jason grins, suddenly, grateful and happy and so fucking bright, and Tim can’t help but lean in, pressing gentle fingers at Jason’s jaw and tipping his face up for a kiss.

It’s sweet, achingly so, Tim’s fingers so gentle against Jason’s skin and Jason’s fingers gripping tight around Tim’s wrist, holding him there like he doesn’t know that there’s nowhere else Tim would rather be.

“I like you, too” Jason whispers against Tim’s mouth when they part, and Tim can’t help but smile because, well. They both know what he means.

_I love you._

 

**Author's Note:**

> title from [this poem](http://terrorwolves.tumblr.com/post/66060901136/you-have-6-tattoos-full-lips-good-strong) by [clementine von radics](http://clementinevonradics.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [i spend my money on the regular miracles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052973) by [defcontwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo)




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